


The Preacher's Boy

by feralbasilthief



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Baby Mumintrollet | Moomintroll, Baby Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Child Abuse, Fictional Religion & Theology, First Meetings, Minor Injuries, Multi, Okay not babies but aged-down, Slow Burn, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws and a Tail, Somewhat canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralbasilthief/pseuds/feralbasilthief
Summary: One day a mysterious caller shows up to Moominvalley and Moomin couldn't be bothered. That is until he meets the feisty boy the visitor brings in tow.
Relationships: Muminmamman | Moominmamma/Muminpappan | Moominpappa, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 103





	The Preacher's Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I took a quick break from my ongoing fic to refresh my brain and this happened. I thought it was worth posting. No beta so forgive any mistakes!

There was quite a commotion in the valley on that warm spring day. Of course there was, what with a visiting stranger. Moomin, however, wasn’t particularly interested in what his mother and father were fussing about. He was rather delighted in playing checkers with Sniff, who was easy to beat. Easier still when he kept swiping up his opponent’s pieces when he wasn’t looking. It made all good fun, even when Sniff squawked that he would never ever play another game with him if he were going to be such a sorry sport. 

“Don’t be such a fusspot, Sniff! I was just messing with you,” he cried to his friend, still amused.

“It’s not nice to mess with people! Especially your best friend!” Sniff retorted sourly.

“Come on, I didn’t mean nothing by it. Sit down, I’ll let you win the next round.”

“It doesn’t count if you let me win!” The poor little creature folded his arms to his chest and tried his hardest to look very cross. 

Moominmamma popped her head out the window to the veranda where they were playing, interrupting Sniff’s stewing.

“Boys? I’ve made some pudding for our guest, would you like to help taste it?”

Sniff immediately perked up as who can be properly upset when offered sweets. 

“Yes please, Mrs Moominmamma!” he bounced on his little toes, barely able to hold himself back. Moomin carefully tied the checkerboard cloth together at the corners so their bottle cap pieces wouldn’t fall out and followed behind, slower but still enthused. He set the game on the coffee table and made his way to the kitchen, where Sniff was already poking his head up over the counter to see what treats awaited him. 

Mamma was busy dolloping out two plates for them.

“What flavour is it?” Moomin asked, sniffing at the oven, “Oh, is it bread pudding? I do hope so!”

“Sorry, dear. It’s lemon this time,” she smiled warmly, sliding one of the plates towards Sniff, “a little more proper for company.”

Moomin wrinkled his snout and pouted, “Your bread pudding is lovely, though, Mamma! Everyone likes it!”

“Yes, of course,” she bent down to give him a kiss on the top of his head, “How about when our visitor leaves, I’ll make you a batch?”

Moomin sighed, begrudgingly agreeing. He scooted his own plate closer to him and used his finger to take a lick of it. It was much more tart than the sweet pudding he was fond of but delicious as all Mamma’s recipes were. 

Mamma cleared her throat, handing him a spoon, “We aren’t fish, dear, we can use utensils.”

Moomin looked to Sniff, who had simply dug his face into his plate. His snout was covered in lemon curd and he was sheepish at being caught out. 

Rather than get his friend into trouble, after all, he was ignorant of things like manners, Moomin turned the tide of conversation.

“Who’s visiting, Mama?” 

Everyone had been talking about the mysterious caller who was passing through their little valley, but Moomin himself hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. He didn’t much care to know but if he was coming to tea, then Moomin better prepare himself for their guest. He couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little curious either. 

“Well,” Mamma sighed, clearly thinking, “he’s a teacher of sorts, I guess. He tells people what they should think.”

Moomin flattened his ears at the idea, “That’s bossy. I don’t want him teaching me what to think, I like my thoughts!” 

He covered his head in a display to show he wouldn’t be taught how to think. Mamma just chuckled and pulled his hands back down gently. 

“You don’t need to worry, he won’t be. We just have to mind him for a short while and he’ll be on his way.”

Sniff looked up from his empty plate, licking his lips. 

“Is he one of Mr Pappa’s friends?” he asked, wide-eyed and nose twitching.

“I heard someone say my name?” Moominpappa waltzed into the kitchen, his latest manuscript clutched in one paw. He pulled his wife into a loving dip-kiss, ever such the romantic. 

Moomin stuck out his tongue at his parent’s intimacy. He was much too young to enjoy such mushy stuff. 

“Pappa!” Moomin shouted, face reddening with embarrassment. Moominpappa swooped in to ruffle the fur on his head and he let out an undignified huff.

“Yes, my son?” Pappa asked loudly, “What did you need to know?”

“Is the visitor one of of your mates?” Sniff piped up in his squeaky little voice. He looked extra funny with lemon pudding matting the fur on his muzzle.

Moominpappa put a hand to his chin as if deep in thought, though he promptly said, “No! Gosh no!” 

When neither Sniff nor Moomin had any input to that, he explained himself further.

“I’ve met fellows like this, but they never stick around long. They want to spread their message. Rather push-” he cut off, Mamma elbowing him in the ribs. 

“Now,” she said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, “no need to talk like that. We will treat him kindly just like we treat all our other guests.”

Mamma had a stern look on her face that told Moomin to stay quiet and not argue but he could tell she wasn’t completely elated either. Moomin thought he didn’t sound pleasant at all. 

“Will he be staying in Moominhouse?”

He feared the answer because he definitely did not want to give up his bedroom. He had enough of poor relations stealing his room.

“He will, but he’ll be staying in the cellar. He offered 10 quid a night, goodness me!” Mamma put her hands to her cheeks. She was almost as good at acting like a damsel as Snorkmaiden was. 

Sniff whined, “You didn’t take it?”

“No, Sniff.”

“You could have bought a yacht with money like that or even a hot dog stand!” he quivered miserably. Moomin snorted at the state his friend always got in at the mention of riches and shiny things. 

Moominmamma was ever so patient, though. 

“We have everything we need here, dear. Money would just make us unhappy,” she explained. He didn’t like that answer.

“That’s fine for you to say! I would be happy to be rich and aren’t  _ you _ just telling me what to think now?” 

He immediately knew what he said was rude and scampered to hide behind Moomin, tail tucked behind him. Mamma, always tolerant, just returned to her baking. 

Knowing they would both be in trouble if they didn’t leave soon, Moomin shoved Sniff to the kitchen door. Moominmamma caught them out, though, and cleared her throat so they would pause in their tracks. 

“Hold on, boys.”

She was armed with a warm wet washcloth. Moomin tried to get away from the attack, leaving Sniff to fend for himself, but he too was caught by the scruff of his neck. Mamma scrubbed their dirty mouths clean and finally freed them of their torture, thoroughly humiliated. Pappa only made it worse by chuckling behind his papers, now enjoying coffee at the dining table.

They left with tails dragging. 

“Another round of checkers?” Moomin asked. 

Sniff shook his head and Moomin was relieved; he didn’t want to have to set up the board again anyways.

“Why don’t we go swim in the river?” Sniff suggested. 

“It’s still too cold I think. We could see who can catch the most fish?”

“You always win that, I don’t want to compete. We could- could-”

Sniff stopped in his tracks, staring up with eyes the size of saucers. A large man dressed in black stood in the doorway to Moominhouse. He held a leather suitcase and looked as stiff as a ramrod. He staggered above them, a fearsome and domineering fellow. 

“Hello, little ones. Is this Moominhouse?”

His voice was sharp but not unkind. Sniff clamped shut like a clam so Moomin would have to show him how practical and grownup he could be.

“Yes, sir. My mother and father are in the kitchen, would you like to speak to them?” 

Only then he realized that this must be the mysterious visitor that everyone was talking about.

“I would. Would you take me to them?” 

He jutted out in all angles, pointy and intimidating. Moomin started to lead him to the kitchen when he noticed the man was talking in a hushed tone to something behind him. Did he have something with him? A pet? Or were they inviting a mad man into their home? 

Moomin leaned to the side to take a peak and stumbled backwards when he saw a tiny pink paw, clutching on the man’s cloak. 

“By the Groke’s teeth, what is that?” Moomin startled, which in turn set Sniff into cowering behind him. The paw shot back into hiding.

“Oh, good, you’re here. You’ve had a safe journey, I presume, mister…” Mamma greeted, padding through from the kitchen to shake his hand. 

“Mr Ó Faoláin, but please, call me Anselm,” he returned with a hearty grip of his own.

“Anselm, lovely!,” she smiled warmly, “I’m sorry I don’t believe you mentioned having a son. I would have prepared an extra mat if I had.” 

A tiny gasp came from behind the man.

_ Son?,  _ Moomin thought, surprised. He didn’t really seem the sort to have a child. Was that the hand he saw? It would be a relief to know the visitor wasn’t full of creepy arms and legs. He didn’t like them enough on spiders, let alone something as big as him. 

“No, we appreciate your hospitality, though. I have a bedroll for him. Not mine either, King bless me. He’s wandered off too many times from his last family so I took him with me. Charity work, I guess. I’m straightening him out, no need to worry.” 

Mamma clearly didn’t like the sound of a child needing ‘straightening out’, Moomin could tell from the fur ruffling up on the backs of her paws. She was good at biting her tongue though and leant down to coax the child from his spot. 

When he didn’t come out, Anselm cleared his throat.

“Snufkin! Don’t be rude, boy!” he bellowed, irritated. 

Skittering sounds followed a small yelp and a fluffy head popped out from behind him. 

Moominmamma reached one hand out, trying to be gentle with such a frightened creature.

“It’s alright, dear. You can come on out.” 

The poor boy’s eyes bulged out of his head but he walked out, fiddling with the hem of his tunic shyly. 

Moomin’s breath caught in his lungs. He didn’t think he had ever seen a prettier creature than the one before him now. He was rounder, not all angles like any creature Moomin had seen similar to him. The fur on his head was auburn and it matched his golden-brown eyes in a magical way. 

His tunic was simple and white, but delicate red flowers were embroidered along the collar and hems that would have clashed horribly with the rest of him had he been anyone else. Moomin thought he might look even lovelier if the flowers were blue or green. His little cotton shorts were barely visible past the smock and he had funny wool socks and little black dress shoes. He was absolutely  _ wonderful _ .

Maybe even more delightful than Snorkmaiden. No, definitely more delightful, though Moomin tried to put that thought out of his mind as quickly as he could. It was certainly one that would offend Snorkmaiden when she somehow read his mind, which she always seemed too keen on doing.

“There, there, don’t be so scared,” Mamma said in the softest voice she could muster. He slowly and wordlessly grabbed her pointer finger, looking deep into her eyes as if he could see something past them.

With her other hand, she motioned to Moomin and Sniff.

“These are my boys. They are about your age; I’m sure they’d love to play with you, dear.”

Moomin raised a hand in greeting but the boy didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he shook his head and he retracted his paw from Mamma. He shrunk into himself, wrapping his tail around his legs and backing up until he was pressed firmly against Anselm. 

Moomin choked on the look he was shooting him. He had his eyes narrowed and he looked angry. Moomin felt himself get unreasonably upset at the rejection. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Well, if he doesn’t want to play with us, we don’t want to play with him, right Sniff?” 

Sniff agreed with a sharp nod of his head. 

Moomin immediately regretted what he said, not just because of his mother’s disappointed look, but because the boy was staring down at his feet, looking like he might cry. He hadn’t meant to be so mean. Oh, curse him for being so dreadfully emotional. Poor… poor Snuvkit or whatever he was called.

Anselm cleared his throat again.

“I’m sure they will get along once he’s settled,” he said awkwardly, “Hopefully they won’t be poor influences... Nevermind, we won’t be here for long anyway.” 

His tone became more demeaning as he spoke. 

“I take it the cellar entrance is outside the house. Come, boy,” he said firmly to Mamma before turning heel. The child trailed behind him like a tiny toy soldier. 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Moomin looked to his Mamma.

“Are we really letting him stay here?” he said with a wrinkled nose. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. But if we can welcome Stinky, surely we can accommodate Mr Anselm.”

Moomin wouldn’t say they welcomed Stinky at all. In fact, they were very keen on getting him out of the house during any of his ‘visits’. He tucked the thought away. They had been kinder to more deplorable creatures than this and it was important to Mamma so it’d be important to him too. Besides, he wanted to become friends with the pretty boy. 

Maybe he could convince Sniff to come to the beach with him and he could collect enough shells to make a necklace for the boy. He would  _ have  _ to be his friend then. Moomin could just imagine it; his eyes would shine and he’d blush and giggle a thank you like Snorkmaiden did when he handed her a particularly beautiful flower. 

“Sniff,” he said, still deep in his fantasy, “would you wanna go to the beach and look for treasures with me?” 

When he was met with silence, he turned around to discover Sniff had gone off without him. 

“Some best friend you are,” he grumbled to himself, crossing his arms. 

_ Whatever _ , he thought. He’d just have to go by himself. 

The day was great for shell hunting. No wind, bright, and warm. The birds chattered amongst themselves from the trees. 

He started to pad down the well-worn path to the river but a movement by the side of the house broke his concentration. 

Moomin had assumed the man and his boy had gone down to set up their beds but the fluffy copper mess made no mistake in thinking him for anyone else. The sun picked up the red in his fur in such a way that Moomin felt his heart skip a beat. No one else was around, this was his chance, even though he didn’t have a present yet for him. 

Some quick thinking led him to pick one of Mamma’s daffodils from the front of the house. He felt a bolt of pride and confidence for being so clever. While not a shell necklace, the flower would be an acceptable gift. 

Moomin stared over at the garden. The boy was drawing something in the dirt with his paws and getting his shirt sleeves filthy. He seemed lost in thought, frowning at whatever he was doing. 

Moomin could only admire him from afar for so long and, taking a deep breath, he strode over to the boy. He hid the flower behind his back and puffed up his chest to try and quell the shaking in his paws. 

The boy didn’t look up, he was so focused. Moomin fidgeted for a moment.

“Ahem!” he cleared his throat, trying to sound like a proper adult, but it came out much too loud and the boy nearly leapt a foot in the air in surprise. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” he said, holding up one paw in surrender, “I just wanted to know if- you-”

His words caught in his throat. The boy stared at him with unmatched fear and fury, hackles raised, and Moomin- poor, poor Moomintroll- could only think how brilliant he was. His chestnut eyes read like books and Moomin could stare at them for hours. 

The boy hissed angrily, crawling backwards on all fours. 

Moomin blinked and he’d gone, running full speed into the forest. He didn’t go after him. Even if he did, the boy was too fast for him to possibly catch. 

Moomin thought for such a gorgeous creature, he sure had a temper to him. He hadn’t even said one word to him and he went running. 

Suddenly, the anger bubbled up in him again. Why wouldn’t he let him play with him? It wasn’t fair! 

Moomin looked down to the daffodil in his paw and huffed at it. He let it drop in the mud, crumpled and wilting. It made him too sad to look at it. 

He stopped when he saw the dirt drawing the boy had made. There were a tall house and a bridge with a line for a river and in between them were three tiny stick figures all with smiles. The first one had big ears and a sharp nose and was holding the hand of the second which had a big snout and fluffy tail. That last one was holding the second’s hand and had a big triangle on its head and was holding what looked to be a fishing rod. 

Moomin’s heart ached and his eyes burned with hot tears. He was so confused. The boy could be their friend if he wanted to. Why was he avoiding him? 

He kicked at the drawing and the third figure disappeared into the mud. It only served to make him cry harder and he struck the ground again. He couldn’t see through his tears but he kept stomping across the dirt, trying to rid the feeling in his chest. 

He finally sank heavily down to the ground, exhausted and not feeling any better for his trouble. 

When he finally had enough wallowing, he walked back to the house, tail dragging limply behind him. 

The rest of that day he hid away in his room, mourning his pride and confidence. He didn’t even come out when Mamma knocked on his door to offer him dinner or when Sniff burst in begging him to help tie ribbons on his ears for one of his harebrained schemes to earn a coin or two. 

It was late into the evening when he finally trudged down the stairs, rubbing at his puffy eyes. 

His Mamma took him in her arms without a question and he appreciated not having to explain himself to her. His Pappa scooted over to the couch and started to read one of his stories. It had to be Moomin’s favourite, even though Moominpappa hadn’t finished writing it yet. It was about his time in the orphanage and how he was a brave and daring Moomin. He loved how it ended with him escaping into a new, bigger, scarier world. He had only heard bits and pieces of the rest of the tale but he was excited to know the full story one day. 

He fell asleep to Pappa reminiscing on the awful smell of oatmeal soup and how he had to carry his tail.

Once sure he wouldn’t wake, Pappa carried his son up, dead weight in his arms. He tucked him into his covers and Pappa sat at the edge of the bed, stroking his boy’s head. He would mourn the day Moomin would be too old and too heavy for his daddy to carry him up the stairs and hoped he would wait as long as he could to grow up on him. 

Pappa lowered the wick of the oil lamp and the flame extinguished into smoke, blanketing the room in inky darkness. He took one last glance into the room before closing the door almost all the way, just a crack, the way Moomin liked it. 

Moomin was having wonderful dreams of flying in the clouds when he was woken to his own shadowy room. He squeezed closed his eyes with a groan, trying to fall back asleep but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of being watched. 

Begrudgingly, he looked around his room. At first, he thought he was just imagining it, but then he caught two eyes glowing through the darkness. He started to scream, but quickly, his mouth was covered by a small paw. Through the moonlight, he could see the boy, hair tousled and nightshirt wrinkly. His mind boggled and he wondered if this was a dream. 

“Come, I have something to show you,” he spoke, soft and breathy like a summer wind. 

Moomin couldn’t contain his surprise, “You can speak!” 

The shout echoed in the silent house and he clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Quietly!” the boy whispered, looking miffed. 

Moomin nodded wordlessly and followed behind as the boy led the way. They crept through to the front door without incident and slipped out into the night.

“We should have gone out my window,” Moomin said regretfully. It would have been easier than tiptoeing around. The boy just tilted his head at this, obviously not knowing about his rope ladder, and motioned them forward. 

They padded through the grass in silence for a while before Moomin couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Where are we going, Snuv… Sniv? Snuvki-,”

“Snufkin,” he said and Moomin felt very embarrassed. It was a difficult name so how could he be blamed? _ Rather condemn the parents who gave it to him _ , he thought. 

“Right, so?” he asked, wringing his hands together nervously.

“You’ll see.” 

Moomin went quiet again, watching Snufkin’s hair bounce with each step he took. He grew a bit concerned when they crossed the bridge. It wasn’t a good idea to go into the woods this late at night. As safe as Moominvalley was, there were still dangers in the forest, though mostly just getting lost or tripping on stray roots. 

Luckily, Snufkin stopped right before the tree line.

“Right here, look,” he pointed back up at Moominhouse and at first Moomin didn’t understand what he was talking about. Then he realized it, he saw how beautiful his home truly looked bathed in moonlight. Fireflies twinkled across the lawn and the river looked like a silver ribbon. He’d never seen the valley like this. It stole his breath away, the same way Snufkin did when he first saw him. 

The grass was nice and cool between his toes. He closed his eyes and breathed in the night air. It smelled like rain and wood. If he concentrated hard enough, he could just smell the faintest hint of honeysuckle.

He turned back to Snufkin to thank him for bringing him there but the boy was distracted, reaching into the roots of a nearby tree. He pulled out a large hat and Moomin watched him curiously.

Snufkin upturned the hat and something shiny plopped out of it into his other hand. He pocketed whatever it was and slung the hat on his head, even though it was much too big for him. It was clipped on one end with a clothespin to keep it from falling off but it still looked ridiculous. Moomin tried his best not to laugh because Snufkin looked very stern about it. 

Moomin turned back to the stars, trying to look casual as Snufkin padded up and sat next to him with a thump. They sat in silence for a moment. Moomin never wanted it to end, but then he saw that Snufkin had curled his arms around his knees and was looking into his lap. 

“I’m sorry,” he said simply, but Moomin could hear the hesitance in his voice. He reached out a paw to comfort him but stopped himself midway, unsure himself. He dropped the paw into the grass between them. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, and he meant it with all his heart, “what I said wasn’t very nice. I just wanted to play with you and I got mad.”

Snufkin signed and raised his head, looking out somewhere in front of him. Moomin thought the moonlight was more beautiful when captured in his eyes. 

“Anselm doesn’t like it,” he replied, tugging the hat off his head and fidgeting with it in his paws, “He can’t stop me from having it, though, it’s mine.”

Moomin smiled giddily, the fire in Snufkin’s eyes making his heart rate rise. 

“I don’t like him,” Moomin said cooly. 

“Me neither. He says children should be seen and not heard.”

“That’s codswallop!” Moomin said, very offended, “Maybe he is worried if he starts listening to you, he’ll gain some sense in his fat head!”

Snufkin burst out into a grin at that, baring a full smile that showed his off his tiny pointed canines. A laugh bubbled up from him like water from the stream, melodic in a way only nature could be. 

If Moomin had thought he was beautiful before, well- he didn’t have any words now. He was purely radiant and Moomin wished he could take this moment and keep it locked away in his pocket forever. Snufkin’s fur landed in soft tufts around his face and his eyes shone with glee.

Moomintroll was sure his heart might just beat right out of his chest at that moment. 

Then, quickly as it had come, the laughter faded and Snufkin resumed his melancholy expression, though a small smile now played on his lips. 

They sat listening to the sounds of nature and shared the moment like a secret, just between the two of them.

“Would you come to the beach with me tomorrow?” Moomin asked shyly, so quiet he wasn’t sure if Snufkin had heard. 

“Alright,” he replied, just as soft. He fidgeted around with something in his pocket, presumably the shiny thing. Moomin was content with that but Snufkin continues.

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, wrinkling his nose.

Moomin raised an eyebrow, “Why? You haven’t done anything.”

“I’m just… not a very good friend. You don’t have to invite me just ‘cause your mum says so,” he looked down and picked at a loose string on the hem of his pyjamas.

Moomin felt his heart deflate like a balloon, feeling very bad that Snufkin could possibly think he didn’t want to play with him. 

“Of course not!” he shouted. The leaves around them rustled as animals of the night scattered from the noise. He huffed and narrowed his eyes at a nearby bush.

“I mean, I want to hang out with you. It’d be lots of fun and I bet you know a lot of cool stuff from travelling,” he said optimistically. It was all the truth, but of course, he had omitted that he also thought he was the most beautiful creature ever and he would like to learn everything about him. Better to keep that to himself and not come on too strong. Still, his tail flicked behind him with passionate emotion.

Snufkin suddenly stood and replaced his hat underneath the tree root.

“We better get you back or you’ll be too tired for the beach,” Snufkin smiled again, holding out a paw for him to take. 

Moomin grabbed it and stood up. He didn’t let go until they had made it to the house. Snufkin held open the door and he snuck back inside. But just before the door closed, he noticed Snufkin sitting on the front stoop.

“Aren’t you going back to bed?” he asked through the crack. 

Snufkin looked to the stars, “In a while, I’d like to be alone for a little bit. Goodnight, Moomin.”

“Goodnight, Snufkin,” Moomin replied. 

The door closed with a click and Moomin leaned against it with a heavy sigh of contentment. His paws itched with excitement when he thought about going to the beach with Snufkin.  _ Taking  _ him to the beach. He didn’t know the area and Moomin would look very impressive when he showed him the cave and how good he was at diving for pearls. He’d be a true beau idéal.

He raced up to his bed at once and threw himself under the covers, anxiously trying to fall asleep so tomorrow would come sooner. This time it was difficult to be tired, though, and he took a whole hour and a half before he was able to slip back into dreamland. 

The second the sun hit his window, he was up. He raced around the house to get himself ready and Mamma had to take him in her paws to get him to slow down. 

“I know you’re excited, but the beach will still be there  _ after _ you have breakfast,” she told him once he finished babbling about his plans for the day. 

He grumbled at the pancake in front of him. 

“I thought we weren’t gonna play with him,” Sniff said from across the table, enjoying his golden syrup drowned pancakes. Mamma swooped over to grab the tin from his sticky paw. 

“No, I just said that so he would want to more,” Moomin fibbed. Sniff didn’t look any less confused. 

“He’s nice, he’s just scared,” Moomin tried to explain. He didn’t know if Snufkin would appreciate him saying he was afraid. He didn’t seem the sort to want to share a feeling like that. 

“Oh, well, I’m scared all the time!” 

Luckily, Sniff wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He finished his pancake and slipped off his seat. 

“Plate in the sink, please dear,” Mamma asked him, without even turning around. How was she always that good? Sometimes Moomin worried his mother had eyes on the back of her head. He grabbed his dishes and set them up on the counter. 

“Thank you, have fun,” she said kindly. 

Moomin didn’t even wait for Sniff to finish up. He wanted to see Snufkin right then. He burst out the front door, half expecting him to be stood there waiting for him. He was disappointed when he wasn’t. 

He wandered around the house hoping to catch a glance of his poofy hair or messy clothes but there was no sign of Snufkin. He even looked out to the garden and the treeline where they had been last night. It was silent, save for a couple tweeting finches. 

He was beginning to give up hope, thinking that maybe it had been a dream all along when he heard the crack of the cellar door opening. Moomin bolted over to it and cheered when he saw Snufkin slip under the door. 

“Snufkin!” he cried, overjoyed. Then he stopped in his tracks and tried to hide a snort behind his paw. 

“Moomintroll,” Snufkin stated matter-of-factly before he broke down into embarrassment, “I know, it’s awful.”

He tugged at his collar, trying to loosen it. He had a black woollen dress coat with a high collar and matching wool shorts. His dress shoes were polished and his socks were pulled up all the way to his blotchy red knees. Even his hair was neatly combed down to try and tame the natural wildness. 

“No, no, you look… eh, smart?” Moomin tried.

“I can’t stand it. Anselm calls it ‘Sunday’s best’. Sunday’s worst if you ask me,” he snorted.

He quickly removed the wool coat and shorts and deposited them in a nearby bush, leaving him in his linen underclothes. He made a show of pushing his socks down and ruffling his hair back to its usual wildness. 

“Better?” he asked Moomin. 

“Yes, much.”

Snufkin opened his mouth to reply but Sniff’s wailing interrupted him. 

“Wait for me!” the small creature cried, dashing towards them. He skidded to a halt, panting and ears shaking. 

“Hello! I’m Sniff! Moomin says you’re nice!” he chattered in his high-pitched voice. 

Snufkin just stared at him, probably taken aback by Sniff’s eager demeanour. Moomin stepped in between them and pointed to the beach path. 

“Come on, let’s go before the tide washes away all the best shells!” he exclaimed. 

With that, Sniff took off like a bolt. 

“I could sell those!” he shouted jovially, scampering away and taking a far lead ahead of them. 

Moomin took Snufkin’s hand and led him down the soft, well-worn path. 

At some point, they had let go but Moomin didn’t notice until he saw Snufkin fish in his pocket for something. He pulled out a metal mouth organ and Moomin realized that was what Snufkin had put in his pocket the night before. It was dented in some areas and scuffed, but the casing had pretty scrawling etched in the top. It looked well-loved. 

Snufkin brought it to his lips and played a couple notes in quick succession that sounded like the start of a little ditty. 

“That’s very good,” Moomin hummed, chuffed beyond a reasonable doubt. 

Snufkin pulled the instrument back and pocketed it again. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah, I do.”

There was a beat of silence and, suddenly, Snufkin stopped in his tracks.

“I can’t stay with him any longer,” he said with gut-wrenching force. 

“Who?”

Moomin knew who, though.

“Anselm. I can’t. I’m going to run away.”

“But- but you can’t!” Moomin argued, “He’ll be cross with you! Where will you go?”

Snufkin looked at his feet. His eyes searched the grass. 

“I don’t know yet,” he looked up to Moomin with pleading eyes, “Oh, please don’t tell him, Moomin! If you do, I’ll never be able to leave!”

He was so emotional and distraught, Moomin could do nothing but agree with him. He didn’t want Snufkin to be upset. It made his tummy flip flop like Mamma’s pancakes in the most unpleasant way. Moomin tummies were not made for this sort of worrying at such a young age. 

“I won’t, I’ll keep it our secret.”

“Cross your heart.”   
“Triple cross it and hope to die,” he drew three big Xs on his chest with his finger and held his hand out. Snufkin took it and gave it a hearty shake and Moomin felt very grown up making such a big commitment. 

Once the handshake was over, Snufkin took off down the path.

“Race ya!” he called after him, even though he clearly had the advantage. 

Moomin still gave it his all to catch up to his friend, left in the dust. He stepped on to the beach very winded but with a lopsided smile growing on his face. 

Sniff looked up from the sandcastle he had started building. 

“About time! I thought you two had been gobbled up!” he shouted over the roaring waves of the sea, “Come help me!”

“I’m going swimming!” Moomin shouted back. He ran up behind Snufkin.

“You coming?” he asked.

Snufkin shook his head, “Ah, er- no. I think I’ll stay with Sniff.”

He kicked the sand at his feet but made no move.

“Oh, okay,” Moomin said, not able to hide the disappointment in his voice. Snufkin looked at him with big hazelnut eyes. 

“It’s just- I’m not a good swimmer. That’s all.”

With a guilty look on his face, he wandered over to Sniff’s sand lump and started to form something of a tower on the side. Moomin watched him for a second, feeling jealous of Sniff. He would have to gather the biggest pearls he could find.

The water was cool, a good contrast to the hot sand. Moomin relished the feeling on his toes for a second before he ran, yipping and hollering, into the surge. He flopped into the water with little grace and submerged himself. Thoroughly soaked to the bone, he bobbed up for air. The tide had quickly brought him out to a reasonable distance away from the shore and Sniff and Snufkin looked like ants. If they were saying anything to one another, he definitely could not tell. 

He dove a couple of times to find a good treasure or two, but nothing caught his eye and he quickly became bored. 

He dragged himself, now heavy with water, back to shore and made his way to the sandcastle. 

“Sniff,” he invited because he dare not ask Snufkin a second time and come off pushy, “come in, the water’s really nice.”

“But I can’t swim!” Sniff objected. 

“You don’t need to, just wade with me.”

Sniff twitched his nose, thinking very hard about the proposition. 

“What do I get out of it?” 

Moomin let out a loud groan and closed his eyes. 

“I could throttle you,” he said, though it had no threat to it. 

He thought it would be a fun day at the beach but they had been there mere minutes and he was itching to get going. Usually, he and Sniff could spend the whole day searching for shells and finding hidden tide pools. Now he wanted to get as far away from his adoptive brother as possible. Something about it made his fur prickle with irritation. 

“I’m going to cool off under the trees,” Snufkin said quite suddenly. He stood up and walked back towards the forest path. 

“I’m going too,” Moomin decided, though Snufkin was too far away to hear. 

“Oh, and me!” Sniff raised his hand. His tail shot straight up and wagged happily.

Something in Moomin boiled up and he couldn’t contain it any longer. 

“No! Just stay here!” he yelled and trudged off in Snufkin’s direction. 

He didn’t miss Sniff’s ears lowering or the glassy look on his eyes. He tried to ignore the soft whimpers his best friend made. Still, guilt quickly gnawed its way up his throat as he caught up with Snufkin. 

He rubbed at his eyes to hide the welling of tears in them. He never had an issue with showing his feelings but when had he become this desperate to cry so often? 

“I’m sorry,” Snufkin broke Moomin from his misery, “I ruined things.”

He looked so sad, so full of regret. Moomin wanted to envelop him in a hug like his Mamma always did for him and never let go. 

“You didn’t do anything, really, it was me,” Moomin reached out and placed a comforting paw on his shoulder. 

Snufkin hissed at the contact and jolted forward while Moomin retracted as if he had been burnt. The linen stuck to Snufkin’s back and a deep red line stained the fabric where Moomin had touched. 

“You’re hurt!” Moomin exclaimed, feeling as if a rug had been pulled from under him, “You’re hurt, Mamma will help you.”

Snufkin stayed faced away, holding his arms tightly to him. His claws dug into his skin turning it pink. Moomin wished he would look at him. 

“You’re bleeding, we need to go home!”

“ _ No _ !” Snufkin spun around, voice laced with venom. His eyes narrowed into slits and he bared his teeth. His claws sheathed in and out but through the rage, Moomin saw the glint of tears on his cheeks.

“Snufkin, did Anselm-”

“No,” he shot back, though, this time his voice faltered. The walls were crumbling down around him and Moomin could see the angry visage weaken with his fight. 

“This is what I deserve.”

Moomin paled at a thought like that. How could Snufkin ever think he deserved to be hurt? 

“Oi, what are you lot talking about?” 

Sniff’s voice carried on the wind from behind them and Moomin whipped around to stop him from coming any further. 

“Moomin?”

Sniff tilted his head, seemingly having forgotten his distress. His big ears flopped over his head. 

“Were you talking to someone? Where’s the other boy?”

Moomin wished he wouldn’t ask some many questions. He’d be only half as much of a pest. Still, he felt an apology would be in order later. He turned back, confirming what he feared to see. Snufkin was gone, having disappeared far into the brush. 

The rush of adrenaline ebbed out of Moomin, leaving him weak and tired. 

“Just myself, Sniff. Snufkin went back to the house,” he placated, secretly hoping the last part was true. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he never had the chance to fix things. 

He must have looked thoroughly depressed because Sniff put a stout arm around him and led him all the way back to Moominhouse. He vowed not to take his best friend for granted again. 

He didn’t see Snufkin for the rest of that day. Mamma had invited Snorkmaiden over for a playdate and they tried to play pretend but he couldn’t work up the energy to get into his role. The day just seemed too sad for pretending to be a furdresser. He placed the tiara on Snorkmaiden’s head limply and it fell to the side. 

“For the Groke’s sake, Moomin,” she said exasperated but softened when she saw how miserable he looked. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Nothing,” he sighed loudly. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Moomin averted her gaze, keeping quiet. 

“Really, I promise I won’t shout. If you want to talk, you can always come ‘round.”

With that sentiment, she left the room. Moomin could hear her talking to Sniff down the hall. He laid on his bed, not feeling like getting comfort this time. 

Even though it was only early afternoon, he fell asleep listening to his friends’ chattering. 

Later that night, he woke to find a plate of orange slices at his door. It looked like there had been some other red fruit, raspberries perhaps, that had left stains on the dish before they had been pilfered. Moomin was just grateful to have something to eat. He gobbled down the fruit in the silence of his bedroom and, once he had his fill, replaced the empty plate outside his door. 

Bored and not able to fall back asleep, he pulled some paper and crayons out of his nightstand and started to draw. 

At first, he tried his hand at drawing the house, his mom, his dad, Sniff, Snorkmaiden. He tried to keep himself from what he really wanted to draw but he quickly ran out of other subjects. Finally, he gave in. He spent a lot longer on the picture of him and Snufkin. He made sure to add details to his pretty brown eyes and drew a little harmonica in his hand. He even remembered to include the big green hat. Snufkin had drawn it on himself in the mud picture so Moomin thought he might like it to be on in this one too. He added himself, hand in hand with the boy. They were smiling in his drawing. Moomin made sure to put a sun in the corner on the page as the finishing touch and held up his work, admiring it proudly. 

He cleaned up his crayons and all the other papers but left his last drawing propped up next to his pillow so he could keep looking at it. He climbed into bed and reached over to huff out the light. Swallowed in darkness, he curled into his warm bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

When Moomin next awoke, the sun was already up, filtering in through his sheer curtains. He blinked past through the fog and he peered around the room, trying to see what woke him. A thunk against his window sent him flying out of his bed in a panic. 

As he collected himself off the floor, another pebble hit the window. He rubbed his ears, still sensitive this early in the morning, and went to see what the commotion was about. 

It took barely a moment of searching to see the rust-coloured tuft of hair below him. 

“Snufkin,” Moomin said to himself. He was ecstatic to see him and hastily unfurled his rope ladder to let Snufkin come up. 

Chuffed that he would remember that tidbit said in passing, Moomin released the string binds and watched the boy climb up into his bedroom. 

“Snufkin! I’m sorry about yesterday, I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he wrung his hands together, hoping his apology would be accepted. He had tried to sound very sincere. 

His worry grew when Snufkin didn’t say anything. He sat quietly against his bedroom door and shushed him. Snufkin pressed an ear flush to the oak, listening with hawk-like focus. After a moment, he stood back up and took a deep breath.

“Can we play?” he asked innocently as if he was only seeing Moomin there for the first time. 

Moomin nodded immediately and vigorously. 

“Yes, of course-” he cleared his throat, “marbles?”

Snufkin hummed and it sounded affirmative enough that Moomin went to his nightstand to grab his bag of marbles. He looked back to Snufkin but the latter was staring at something behind him. He turned and there was the picture he drew last night. 

“I like it a lot,” Snufkin said, blushing and fidgeting with his sleeves. Moomin gasped. A sudden and very good idea came to his head. 

“Why don’t you take it with you?” Moomin shoved the paper at him with clumsy paws, “So you can remember me.”

Snufkin stared at the drawing, stunned. 

“No,” he started but quickly explained to stop the crestfallen look on Moomin’s face, “I would love to but it would just get ruined. I got a good memory, if you have it you won’t forget about me.”

Moomin held the paper to his chest.    
“I couldn’t forget you.”

Snufkin smiled at him, bittersweet for so young a face. 

“Let’s play marbles,” he said, switching the subject. 

Moomin nodded, now remembering the game in his hand. He spilt the marbles and string hoop out of the buckskin pouch. Quickly they got a game going, mostly because neither knew the actual rules so they just took turns flicking marbles into the ring. He was just glad the Snufkin was smiling again. 

They enjoyed each other's company as the morning slowly melted away. They were on their third round of marbles when Snufkin froze in place. 

“Boy!” they heard a roar from outside the room. Moomin could see the fur on Snufkin’s nape rise and the tension in his body, holding like a coiled spring. The door flew open and Snufkin threw himself backwards instinctively. 

“I knew I heard you up here!” 

If Moomin thought Anselm was intimidating before, he was downright terrifying now. His stiff clothes seemed to be the only thing holding his rage in. 

“Running away! Consorting with sinners! May the King have mercy on you when He brings His retribution to you,” Anselm spit, drawing closer and backing Snufkin into a corner between Moomin’s dresser and the wall. His head shot down to meet nose to nose with the frightened boy. 

This wasn’t right. How dare he be so awful? Moomin very suddenly decided he did not care about hospitality and being mature anymore. 

“Don’t touch him!” Moomin yelled, beside himself with anger. His snout flushed hot and red and he balled his paws into tight little fists.

Anselm looked at him with a glare that could have melted a glacier and wordlessly yanked Snufkin up by the scruff. 

“The King cannot save these people. We are leaving,” he said cooly, holding Snufkin up like he was nothing more than a handbag. 

Snufkin swung wildly in his grip, trying desperately to claw at his hand. 

“No! Let me go! Let me go! Please, please, please!” he cried, throaty and raw. It held anguish in it like nothing Moomin ever heard. 

“Quiet! These creatures are filling you with sinful ideas and silly notions.”

Anselm gave Snufkin a harsh shake and the boy choked against the pressure on his neck. Snufkin desperately scratched at the door frame and gave one last pleading look through the crack before the door was shut with a click. 

Moomin could still hear Snufkin’s shouts through the door but what could he do? He pulled his ears down to try and block out the noise. A sob erupted from him. Why was he so small and useless? He hated being little, he wished he could grow up right at this moment and give Anselm a piece of his mind. 

Loud yells came from downstairs, his Mamma trying to make sense of what was happening. He could hear their muffled voices but not what they were saying. It was punctuated by the slam of the front door.

And poor Snufkin- he didn’t even want to think about it- what would become of him? It was his fault. If Moomin hadn’t been there, surely Snufkin wouldn’t have come back. He’d be long gone, somewhere safe where someone would care for him like he deserved. 

He lay on the floor, wanting nothing more than to sink into the boards and live there for the rest of his days. 

“Moomin!” 

He didn’t move from the ground when his mother came rushing to his side. It only served to make him weep harder. 

“What happened?” she asked, less calm than usual. 

When he didn’t answer, Mamma scooped him up off the ground and with reasonable effort, cradled him in her arms like he was still a kit. 

“Our guests left,” she said honestly.

Moomin already knew that though. He had heard the front door close and knew it had been true. 

“I’m scared for that poor boy,” she sighed, tickling the fur on his head. 

Moomin at last found some comfort. His Mamma always knew; she had a gift to her like that. That’s how she came to have so many house guests. She had that extra sense for caring.

“He’ll be alright,” she reassured, for herself as much as for her son. She kissed his forehead and placed him down softly on the bed. 

“How about I make us some lunch and we can go to the stream and put our feet in the water while we eat? Later, you can help me make that bread pudding I promised you.” 

And that’s what they did, trying to fill the fright from the morning with good memories. Moomin held hope in his heart that he’d wake up and Snufkin would be stood in his room, bathed in the moonlight once again. But a day passed and then a week. And Spring changed to Summer which changed to Fall. 

Moomin lay in his bed, trying to fall asleep and begin his hibernation. 

He just couldn’t keep his eyes off the picture on his nightstand, his and Snufkin’s hands perpetually intertwined. His eyes lingered on it until they grew too heavy to carry on and had to close. His heart ached. 

~~~

Moomin woke to a cold draft. He shivered and pulled the covers up over him but the biting frost was relentless. Oh, what unhappy fate, to be woken mid-hibernation by a chill. He grumbled as he slipped out of bed and crossed to the window. He bumps against it but it is stuck firmly closed. He feels the edge but no draft escapes. 

It must be from outside his room, he realized begrudgingly. He carefully opened the door as quietly as he could. It was even colder out in the hall. 

The farther he walked towards the stairs, the colder it became. 

The draft must be downstairs, he thought. 

He hoped he would find the source of it soon and be able to go back to sleep. The house was too quiet and it set an unsettling atmosphere. 

Rather fortunately, the cause of the cold perpetrating the house was front and center. The main door was wide open and Moomin ran down the stairs to push it closed. He thought it must have blown open in the wind, but a soft sniffling made him whip around. 

He nearly fell back with the shock of seeing a small figure on his couch. Moomin could barely catch his breath before he was jolted again. It was Snufkin, he had come back! 

Moomin filled with excited electricity, buzzing like a Hattifattener. His friend came back! Sure it was Winter and they couldn’t exactly play, but he was in Moominhouse again. If only Snufkin knew how he had missed him and thought about him every day since he was gone. 

Had he really run away like he said? Moomin searched the room, suddenly worried that Anselm might jump out from behind the shadows at any moment. When nothing but silence followed, he bounded up to Snufkin, naivety creating joyful bubbling under his fur. 

He reached out to rouse Snufkin with one paw but stopped short, airy disposition cut like a cord. 

The boy’s rosy fur was tangled and matted against his scalp and his clothes were soaked wet through, not that they were very thick to begin with. They were hardly recognizable as the cotton pyjamas he had been wearing the night Moomin had spent with him. He was shaking like a leaf underneath his clothes. His green hat was crumpled next to the couch and Moomin picked it up with delicate paws.

“Snufkin?” he broke the silence that shrouded them.

Snufkin nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, tossing himself backwards. His tail, gnarled and painfully crooked at the middle, fluffed up to three times its size and his eyes went wild. Tear stains streaked his cheeks, making it clear he had been crying. Though he was startled, he kept his hands cupped together by his chest, trying to hold them steady. After a moment of sheer fight-or-flight instinct, he visibly calmed himself. Moomin let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. 

“Are you okay?” Moomin asked, tossing the hat on the couch and offering his hand. He had a lot of questions swarming in his mind like buzzing bees, but this one was on the forefront. 

Snufkin started to nod his head fervently but quickly paused to think, deciding to switch to a slow shake. He opened up his tiny paws to reveal an even tinier bird. It must have been just a nestling with how pink it was, only a few sparse downy feathers speckled its form. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Snufkin rasped, “She fell out of her nest and I took her cause I was scared and she’s- she’s-”

He broke off into hiccuping sobs. He quivered violently and the little bird cheeped out its protests to being disturbed. 

Moomin’s heart lurched at the words not said. He watched the bird feebly wriggle in Snufkin’s palms, eyes still tightly shut. 

“Let me get Mamma,” Moomin said softly but Snufkin just shook his head. 

“No, you can’t,” his voice stuttered as it escaped him, breathy and painful. 

Moomin thought differently than to argue with him, fearing if his did Snufkin might run away again and this time never to return. He looked about ready to leave at the mere mention of it.

“Then let me get you something warmer to wear and I’ll sit next to you.”

It wasn’t a question but rather a request and Moomin quickly hurried up the stairs to grab the warmest clothes he could find. The best he could scrounge up was the thick blue nightshirt he had worn about half of the last season before throwing it off sometime during his slumber. It was a bit small for him now but it would work well for the boy. He slung it over his arm and hurried back downstairs. 

Snufkin made a questioning noise when he set the shirt on the couch arm and went off again, this time to the bathroom. Moomin rummaged in the cabinets and pulled out a small medical kit. Satisfied, he walked back a plopped himself down next to Snufkin, who was finishing buttoning up his new clothes. They looked silly on him, rolled up so they wouldn’t flop past his hands, but Moomin decided he liked when Snufkin looked a little funny. At least it was wholly preferable to being soggy. He wished he could offer him a bath to keep the chill from him but that would have been much too loud and he doubted Snufkin would leave his bird alone anyways. 

“He said to let it die,” Snufkin said suddenly and bitterly. His lip wobbled pathetically and he bit down on it to keep it still. Despite his best efforts, tears leaked from his eyes.

“Will of the King!” he raved, voice bouncing through the quiet house, “only a beast would believe their deity would kill a little one like this!”

Snufkin broke back down into tears, sobbing in a way Moomin was sure only grown men and women could do. The grief tugged at him, leaving him feeling empty despite not fully understanding what was going on. The bird chirped weakly from where it was still held in Snufkin’s paws.

Moomin found himself suddenly hugging Snufkin, holding him tightly as if he’d fall apart in his arms. The bird’s noises warbled and slowed to a stop. Silence hung over them, making each wheezing breath deafening. 

Slowly, Snufkin pulled his hands apart. The nestling lay dreadfully still, fight gone in its limp little body. 

“Wake up, little one,” Snufkin’s voice cracked, betraying him and making him only cry harder. He pressed his face to the bird, trying to bring warmth back to its cold body. When he realized nothing could be done, he held his paws back out.

“It’s all my fault,” he despaired, “I should have left her.”

“Nonsense, don’t say such awful things!”

Moomin pawed at his cheeks, realizing he was also crying. 

“You- you tried your best, you were kind to her.”

He wasn’t very good at this comforting thing. He tried to copy what he had read in his books but it didn’t sound right. Even if it was terrible, Snufkin didn’t comment on it. Moomin settled for wrapping around the boy. 

They sat and wept together like that for a long while until the tears ran dry and they couldn’t continue anymore. Moomin felt utterly drained, body exhausted and ready to crawl back into his bed.

“We should bury her,” Moomin said through the lump in his throat.

Snufkin nodded soundlessly.

Moomin swiftly shoved back open the door, pushing back the snow that was already beginning to stick it shut again. He pulled Snufkin from the couch and the boy followed his guidance in a daze. 

The cold was bitter against him, even with his fur. He fluffed out to try and protect himself from the wind. The world was a blank, empty expanse and Moomin felt very small and lonely in it. 

They padded across the bridge and Moomin brought them to the tree where they had first spent the night looking at the stars. 

“Here,” he croaked.

The spot would be well enough, the snow being thin under the protection of the tree branches. He dug through, hating the biting iciness against his paws. It was tough and his paws ended up very muddy, but he finally managed to make a hole big enough for a shallow grave. 

Snufkin fell with a thud to his knees and placed the delicate body down. He heaved violently, though his tears had been spent. He shakily pushed the dirt back into place.

When he was finished, he stood back up and held his paw out for Moomin. For the first time since he had come back, he smiled, filled with sorrow and pain sure, but it was a smile none-the-less. 

“It’s cold out here,” Moomin said dumbly. He shook the snow and dirt from his paws as best he could and looked around him. The wind blew harshly, clearly hating him. 

“I hate Winter. I’m glad I hibernate. It’s barren here.” 

Moomin frowned at his feet, angry at the season for stealing all the beauty and warmth from the valley. 

Snufkin looked at Moomin with big, curious eyes.

“It’s not really,” he whispered, “Not if you know where to look.”

He motioned with his head and started along the forest path. Moomin joined him, feet crunching on the icy ground. After a moment, Snufkin crouched down, tail swishing behind him disjointly. Moomin wished he had thought to dress it before they left. 

“Look, there,” Snufkin breathed, pointing a clawed finger to some underbrush.

There was a rustling sound and a small creep popped its head from beneath the leaves. It sniffed at the ground, pushing snow from side to side in its search for food. A second rustle accompanied a smaller creep, sharing the same fluffy dirt coloured fur as the first. It chirruped at the older creep, who barked back playfully, shoving the tinier creature back into hiding with its snoot. 

Snufkin smiled kindly at the small family affair, letting his tired eyes crinkle up at the corners.

“What happened?” Moomin asked. The creep let out a startled yip and scurried back to its bush.

Snufkin let out a deep sigh.

“I ran away,” he started nervously, “Anselm told me to leave the bird, but I couldn’t. He tried to stop me. He stepped on-”

He paused to suck in a sharp breath.

“-on my tail,” he finished, wincing at the memory. 

“I’m faster than him though. I suppose he never cared too much anyway. I could never be what he wanted.”

Moomin sat taking that sentiment in for a moment. In the end, he couldn’t stand to talk about it anymore, as much as he wanted to comfort Snufkin. 

“Why’d you come here?” 

“I didn’t even think about where I was going until I ran straight to your old bridge. You were all kind to me so I figured you might not mind. More so, you don’t lock your doors,” he gave a self-satisfied smirk which quickly shot to a frown when he realized he shouldn’t be so proud of things like breaking-and-entering.

“Sorry for waking you. I’m a dreadful house guest.”

“Not any more than I am a host,” Moomin snorted, “Let’s go back to the house, I can bandage your tail-”

“No!” Snufkin cut him off, “No- that’s- that’s alright, you don’t need to.”

“I want to,” Moomin placed a soothing paw on his shoulder.

“Oh…” the boy said, mouth falling agape and, but perhaps it was Moomin’s imagination, he swore he caught a hint of a blush on his face. Maybe it was just the cold making it look as if someone painted his cheeks with rouge. Either way, it was lovely. 

“You know I can’t stay.”

Warmth quickly became a hunk of ice in Moomin’s belly.

“What do you mean? Of course you can! Mamma and Pappa would be happy to have you stay!”

Snufkin just shook his head deftly, “You’re not very good at lying, Moomin.”

Moomin went hot with rage. Suddenly overwhelmingly mad, at Winter for being harsh, at Anselm for hurting Snufkin, at the little bird for dying, maybe a bit mad at everything in the world for being how it was to reject Snufkin.

“I’m not lying!” Moomin yelled hotly, “I can be a coward and stubborn and rude, but I’m not a liar!”

The wind whipped violently against them, but Moomin couldn’t feel it through his scalding anger. 

“Moomin-”

“No, let me finish!” he hollered so the gusts wouldn’t carry away his voice, “Moominvalley is safe, you don’t need to be alone anymore! The people here will care! I care about you!”

“Moomin, we need to get inside!”

Snufkin pulled hard on his paw and he looked up to see a large wall of snowfall was encroaching on them very, very fast. He paled and ran as fast as his feet could carry him. He tripped over himself as Snufkin tugged him along, barely able to keep his foothold. The wall was at their heels when they finally bolted inside, slamming the door so hard the chandelier shook under its cover. 

The wind battered against the door, begging to come inside, and then it went silent again. As quick as it had come, the storm faded back away. 

“I’ve heard of storms like that. They could freeze a creature solid- completely like a statue! Anselm says it’s the Queen, but I’ve heard from others it’s a beautiful lady. All the better reason to get moving now.”

Snufkin picked his hat up from the couch, flattening the brim as best he could.

“You don’t have to go, I meant what I said. Please stay,” Moomin asked, twirling the end of his tail between his fingers.

“I can find food where it’s warmer. I can’t hibernate like you, I’d lose my mind.”

Moomin couldn’t exactly argue with that, the house was eerie in the Wintertime, dark and silent. He probably wouldn’t be able to stand it either. It didn’t make him feel any better, though. Snufkin seemed to sense the uneasy feeling because he took a seat on the couch. 

“Don’t worry about me. I know how to look after myself,” he smiled solemnly.

When Moomin didn’t seem pleased by this answer, he added, “I’ll come back the first warm day of the year.”

“The first day of Spring,” Moomin said.

“Yeah,” Snufkin hummed, “the first day of Spring.”

Moomin curled up on the couch next to the boy. At first, Snufkin stiffened, but soon he relaxed into Moomin, enjoying the moment between them. He didn’t need to leave just yet. Not while Moomin was still awake. That would make Moomin happy and if it was to make Moomin happy, suddenly Snufkin felt he might do anything. He was so kind and soft. He deserved to keep his naive feelings about the world. 

Snufkin sat in the house for a long while, longer than he wanted to, even after Moomin’s breathing had evened and he let out little sleeping sounds. Slowly, regretfully, he made his leave, collecting his things and cracking open the door once more. He gave one last longing look to Moomin, to keep him in his memory. 

“Please, forget about me,” he whispered and closed the door with a click.

~~~

Moomin awoke to a much emptier couch. He despaired, at first, that it had been a dream. Then he saw his old clothes folded neatly next to him and he knew Snufkin really had been there and now was gone. 

Worry strung his heart up by many cords, but beneath it was hope and joy. As he lumbered up the stairs, he could hear his father snoring soundly. He tiptoed to their room, snuck to the foot of their bed, and crawled in to curl up between his parents. 

All the while, until he fell asleep, a mantra played in his mind that said the words,  _ ‘He’ll be back, first day of Spring.’ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this or have any critique, leave me comment or send me a message on my tumblr.
> 
> I know this was a bit random, I got the "nasty preacher" idea from an episode of Midsommer Murders, and I just kept going with it. This was written as a one-off but if anyone is interested in a sequel, let me know. I've been dying to write The Joxter so I could bring him into the mix.
> 
> feralbasilthief.tumblr.com


End file.
